


with nobody in your bed (the night's hard to get through)

by mischief7manager



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief7manager/pseuds/mischief7manager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It doesn’t start as an argument. But they’re all exhausted, the post-battle high long since faded into the post-post-battle “oh gods I just want to sleep for days,” and when Percy suggests looking into improving his dragon-snaring contraption, Vax just sort of… snaps.”</p>
<p>Written for Critical Role Rarepair Week, day 5: Angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with nobody in your bed (the night's hard to get through)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergent post episode 55. Title from "Jesus Christ" by Brand New.

It doesn’t start as an argument.

It starts as a strategy session. With Umbrasyl dead, they need to plan out their next move, especially considering that the rest of the Chroma Conclave will likely be none too happy about the demise of their villainous comrade. Once they’ve cleaned up, and healed up, a bit, they meet in one of the ludicrously many rooms in Scanlan’s mansion to figure out where to go from here. 

In all honesty, it starts bad and gets worse. They’re all exhausted, the post-battle high long since faded into the post-post-battle “oh gods I just want to sleep for days,” and when Percy suggests looking into improving his dragon-snaring contraption, Vax just sort of… snaps. 

“For gods’ sake,” he spits out, rising from his chair to face a startled Percy, “really, Percival? We can’t wait five minute before jumping into another fight?”

Percy stands slowly, drawing himself up to his full height, his face a mask of polite indifference, the way it gets when he’s being a proper  _ noble _ about something. Vax bristles. “Umbrasyl may be dead,” Percy says, voice pointedly calm, “but we still have three ancient chromatic dragons to kill. There’s no harm in being prepared.”

“Exactly,” Vax retorts. “We barely made it out of this fight, which is why we should be focus on gathering the rest of the Vestiges, not rushing into another battle.”

Percy raises an eyebrow. “Really?  _ You’re _ advising we plan instead of rushing ahead?”

“Percival.” 

His sister’s voice is a warning, to both of them, but Vax has kept his thoughts to himself for days now, and once he’s started he can’t make himself stop. “Yes,  _ Percival _ , because I learn from my mistakes. Unlike  _ you _ .”

Behind his glasses, Percy’s eyes narrow. His head tilts, ever so slightly. “Now what,” he says, “could you possibly mean.”

If possibly, Vax’s jaw clenches even harder. “Another plan centered around that clever little brain of yours, Percival. And what has that gotten us so far, hmm?” 

“Besides a refuge from the dragons destroying the continent?” Percy’s voice is still light, but his hands have begun to shake.

Vax snorts. “Oh, yes, Whitestone is surely impenetrable. No,” he holds out a hand, “let’s count off your recent contributions, shall we?” He holds up his thumb. “Voting to stick around and kill the dragon, which nearly got us all killed.” His index finger. “Giving Grog an evil, sentient weapon, which got him killed.” His middle finger. “Getting so overwhelmed at the thought of treasure that you rushed into a trap while my sister was standing right next to you,  _ which got her killed _ .” He holds the fingers there for another moment, his own damning List, then spreads his hands wide. “So who’s next, de Rolo? Have you already decided, or are you waiting for inspiration?”

“Have you forgotten,” Percy said, cold, “that you rushing in is what nearly got  _ my  _ sister killed?”

Vax is in his face before he even realizes he’s moved. “I  _ rushed in _ to help her. Remind me what you’ve done for your family lately, Percival, apart from running off to go adventuring and leaving them in the shit,  _ again _ .” 

Percy swings at him. Vax ducks the blow, already bringing his arm back, but before he can strike, a hand grabs his wrist from behind.

“ _ Enough! _ ”

Vex shoves between them, a hand on each of their chests. Vax glances over his shoulder to see Keyleth gripping his arm, eyes wide. Grog steps to Percy’s side, one enormous hand landing on his shoulder. 

“Enough,” Vex says again, voice cracking between them like a whip. “Vax, come with me. You need to not be here right now.” At Vex’s nod, Keyleth releases his arm. Vax drops it back to his side, still glaring at Percy. “ _ Vax _ .” He meets his sister’s gaze, sees the barely contained anger there, and nods sharply. He lets her put a hand on his arm and begin to pull him from the room.

“Walk away, Vax.” The voice draws Vax up short. Percy is at his most disdainful when he’s getting the last word. “It’s what you’re good at.”

Vax starts to turn, rage boiling up from the pit of his stomach, but Vex doesn’t give him a chance to retaliate. “ _ Now _ ,” she says, yanking him by the arm until he follows her out. 

She leads him back to her room, and he lets her. He’s still shaking with anger when she shoves him in and closes the door. “I don’t know if you’ve just got your head up your arse again,” she says, cold in the way she gets when she’s furious, “or if you honestly think you’re in the right, but whatever the fuck is going on, you need to cut it out,  _ now _ .” 

Vax gapes at his sister. “Whatever the fuck is-- Vex,  _ you died!  _ Because of  _ him! _ ” He jabs a finger at the door, and if he had any magic at all, it would have burst into flames. “Because  _ he _ fucked up! He got you killed!”

“And you brought me back!” Vex steps between him and the door, directly into his line of sight. “And I know how awful that must have been--”

Vax snorts. “Do you?”

“ _ Yes! _ ” The shout is so unexpected that it brings him up short. Vex is shaking now, too, eyes glistening, from anger or some other emotion, he’s not sure. “I felt it when you were lying there in front of the Briarwoods, I know how it fucking feels, so don’t--” She shoves him hard in the chest and he stumbles back a few steps. “Don’t use me as a fucking excuse.”

Vax swallows hard. “He got you killed.”

Vex sighs. “I know.”

And then, the thought he’s forbidden himself to have: “He’s going to get himself killed.”

He doesn’t look at Vex when he says it. She reads him too well, always has, and he doesn’t want to show her this, this tangle of guilt and loathing and worry. Some of it must show, because she moves closer, cups a hand to the side of his neck. “You know, you can be angry with someone and still care about them,” she says, and his jaw clenches, because of course she sees anyway, of course she cuts straight to the heart of it.

He keeps his eyes down. “I shouldn’t.”

She shakes him, just a little, enough to make him glance up to her. “But you do.” She smiles, then smacks him twice on the cheek. “So fucking deal with it, alright? You’re bringing down the whole tone of the group.” 

“Alright, alright.” He pushes her lightly, and she lets him, rocking back with a laugh. He lets the levity settle in his chest, slowly untangling the knot of bitter emotions, then sighs. “I should talk to him.”

Vex’s grin fades. “Yes. You should.”

He nods, reaches out and punches her shoulder. “Thanks, Stubby.”

She smiles, punches him back. “You’re welcome, dick.”

He slips out of her room, drawing his cloak around himself. It’s no hardship to ensure he passes through the halls unseen, and his feet lead him to his destination before the rest of him catches on. He stops in front of Percival’s workshop. A cacophony of sound comes from within, clanging and hammering echoing off the walls and through the firmly closed door. Typical of Percival, burying himself in his work. The doorknob doesn’t turn when he tries it, but Vax long ago learned to take locked doors as challenges rather than warnings, and it only takes one of his picks before it opens silently under his hands.

The room is mostly empty. Scanlan’s magic is impressive (don’t tell him Vax said that), but it has limits, and there’s only so much Percival can do with tools that will vanish in a few hours. There’s an anvil, and a forge, and what looks like materials for casting of some sort, though Vax would be hard-pressed to name their specific use. Percival’s talents aren’t magical like others in their group, but the work he does is often just as obtuse to Vax as Pike’s healing or Keyleth’s druidcraft. He takes scraps of metal and creates weapons, marvels, things no one in the world has done before. 

Vax still isn’t sure whether to be frightened or impressed.

“I wondered if you’d come here.”

If Vax were any less experienced at maintaining stillness despite being surprised, he would probably jump out of his skin. Percival’s back is to the door, his hands unceasing in their rhythm, but the words are directed at Vax nonetheless. He continues, voice light. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“I’m considering it.” Vax steps into the room, not bothering to conceal his footfalls, and walks around the other side of the worktable to Percival. Half a dozen or so small metal balls are spread before him. In his hand is a small pair of scissors, which he’s using to clip small pieces of metal off one of the spheres.

“Ammunition for Bad News,” he says, answering Vax’s unasked question. “The lead is poured in the mold, but it must be trimmed of excess once it’s cooled. Imperfections could lead to misfire.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Vax watches for several moments more in silence, until Percival puts the tools down and leans against the table.

“What do you want, Vax?” Percival’s voice is low and rough, so unlike his smooth polish earlier. His head hangs low to his chest, and his eyes are closed, exhaustion clear in the slump of his frame.

“How long have you been working?” Vax asks.

Percival chuckles, though there is little humor in it. “I’m not sure. How long has it been since we tried to kill each other?”

Vax rolls his eyes. “If I wanted you dead, Percival, you’d be dead by now.”

He says it without thinking, and there’s a heavy pause as Percival turns the words over. “Yes,” he says finally, “I suppose I would.” 

He puts the scissors down and braces himself on the worktable, head hanging low between his shoulders. Vax watches as he drags his forearm (bare, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows) across his forehead, smearing soot and sweat. A single liquid bead trails from his temple, to his jaw and down the long lean line of his throat. 

Vax swallows hard. “I don’t want to argue anymore.”

Percy looks up at him. “Me, neither.”

Slowly, Vax moves to lean back against the worktable. It’s high enough that resting his full weight on it leaves just his toes touching the ground, and he leans his shoulder against Percy’s for balance. 

Percy’s body goes still, like he’s bracing for impact, and Vax is suddenly, achingly tired. Tired of being angry, tired of fighting, tired of waiting for the good in his life to be stripped away, and he drops his head to rest on Percy’s shoulder and closes his eyes, because gods all damn it, he is tired down to his bones. 

“I don’t want to hate you anymore,” he says, and he feels Percy’s shoulders hitch on a sharp inhale. 

“I won’t blame you if you do.” Percy’s voice is low and rough, so unlike his earlier sharpness. “It’s no less than I deserve.”

Vax huffs a laugh against his shirt, lifts his head. “If life gave what we deserved, we’d both be long dead, don’t you think?”

The corner of Percy’s mouth quirks up. “Well,” he says. “Thank the gods for small mercies, then.”

Another pause as they look at each other, two men weighed down by death and grief. Percy opens his mouth to speak, but Vax beats him to the punch.

“You were right earlier,” he says. Percy raises a questioning eyebrow, and he continues. “About the dragon trap. It’s a good idea.”

“I thought it was going to get us all killed.” His voice is light, but Vax can hear the current of pain underneath. He hates himself, just a little, for causing it.

Vax shakes his head. “Maybe. But at least it’ll give us a chance.”

Percy nods slowly. “All any of us has, really. A chance.” His eyes fall back to the worktable, and he picks up a single bullet, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “One chance in a lifetime to get it right.”

He’s gone somewhere else in his mind, Vax sees, somewhere dark, and Vax reaches out and covers Percy’s hand with his own, stopping the bullet’s motion. “You’ll get it right again,” he says when Percy’s gaze flicks to his. “I have faith.”

“Do you?” The words are out as though Percy can’t stop himself from asking. Vax can see the realization hit him of what he’s said, what he’s asking for, and he starts to pull away, but Vax can’t let him escape, not this time, not when he’s finally reaching equilibrium, so he lets go of Percy’s hand, pulls him in by the lapel, and kisses him.

He tastes, predictably enough, of black powder. Vax thinks Percy could bathe for a full day in lavender and sandalwood and still have black powder pressed into his skin. It’s sharp against his lips, and grows sharper when Percy’s mouth opens under his and Vax can taste him on his tongue. They’re pressed together chest to chest, and for a moment Vax thinks he can feel Percy’s heart, beating in time with his. Percy groans into the kiss, arms coming up to pull Vax closer, hands tangling in his hair, and Vax can only think, in whatever part of him is still capable of thought,  _ of course I have faith, you idiot man.  _

_ How could I not? _

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing m/m slash! These boys, is2g.


End file.
